


[boys cry tough]

by ephemerall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: ohsam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby has known Sam Winchester nearly his whole life; Sam doesn’t ask for help, as stubborn as his Daddy on a good day, so if he’s called needing help, well … Bobby will be damned if he’s going to leave this kid hanging.  He packs a duffel bag as quickly as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[boys cry tough]

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the ohsam comment fic meme over on LJ. Beta by mamapranayama

It was near 11pm; the front gate was locked up and everything but his emergency and house line were turned off.  But still, when the house phone rings he picks up, voice rough with almost-sleep.  “Singer Salvage,” he says into the phone.  On the other end he could hear someone take a breath, a noise like he or she was about to speak, and a click.  He looked at the phone in annoyance and puts it back on its cradle.

 

It was about another fifteen or twenty minutes, Bobby was shutting off the rest of the lights, making his way to the stairs and the phone rings again.  He almost doesn’t answer it, but moves back to the kitchen and snatches the phone up.  “Singer Salvage,” he says.  Again, it sounds like someone is about to say something; he can hear the hitch in the person’s breath.  “Look, damn it, I don’t have all night for this crap – talk or don’t call me again.”

 

“Bobby?”  He doesn’t recognize the voice on the other end; it’s male, and whoever it is, is talking quietly or whispering.

 

“Who is this?”

 

“Bobby, I…” it sounds like he’s trying not to cry, breath hitching again.  This time when he speaks it’s just quiet and scared.   “Bobby, I think I need help.”

 

“ _Sam_?” Bobby asks incredulously.  He hasn’t heard from a Winchester in the better part of a year and a half, and the last one he expected to hear from was Sam.  Last he’d heard, Sam had bailed on the hunting life – the only Winchester with a chance at something else and a level enough head to get it.  “Sam, is that you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Jesus, kid. Where the hell are ya?” Bobby asks.

 

“I’m at --” Sam clears his throat.  “I’m in California going to school.  Bobby… I need help.”

 

“You call Dean?”

 

“No,” Sam says quickly.   “I don’t – please, don’t call him.  Don’t call my dad, either. I just…”

 

“You ok?  You hurt?”

 

“I…No.  Yes.” Sam makes a frustrated sound.  “Can you come out here?  I don’t know who else to call, Bobby.  Please.”

 

“Yeah, Sam. I’ll be there.”

 

Bobby has known Sam Winchester nearly his whole life; Sam doesn’t ask for help, as stubborn as his Daddy on a good day, so if he’s called needing help, well … Bobby will be damned if he’s going to leave this kid hanging.  He packs a duffel bag as quickly as he can.

 

\---&\---

 

Honestly, he wanted to fit in; he’s spent all his life on the outside looking in, and he had a chance to change that.  For once he could be a part of something that didn’t involve hunting, where he didn’t have to learn Latin or how to shoot left handed.  He didn’t fit the fraternity stereotype, but there were a few guys that were a part of the group that didn’t either, and if they had made it he could too.  Dean would kill him if he knew that Sam was pledging for a fraternity, but Dean isn’t there with him and he’s acutely aware of that fact; Sam has to make his own way, without Dean, like he said he wanted.  There were scholarships too, available specifically to members of fraternities and sororities that would really help his money situation; it was worth a try.

 

Each new pledging member had to go through a test, of sorts; Sam knew it was called hazing, and that it was frowned upon, but he’d do it if need be.  He’d seen a lot worse things that monsters could do to people; at least here it would be something like streaking across campus naked, or endurance testing – both of which he could handle.  He was told simply that someone would come to collect him in the next couple days at any given time, and should he be picked to take part in the festivities, he was not to fight or disobey his captor (they said big brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to use the term).  Sam and a handful of guys were pulled out of their beds in the middle of the night – black hoods put over their heads, dressed haphazardly, and lead out of their dorms silently.

 

Wherever they were, it was outside.  Each of them was given the instructions to get naked, as the guy in charge so elegantly put it.  Sam figured he was right – there would be some act of exhibitionism that Dean would most likely be unhealthily proud of.  His socks went first and the grass under his feet was cool; someone held his hood in place as he pulled his arms out of his tee shirt, and someone else lifted it off for him.  When he heard the jangling of belts he hesitated and it occurred to him that he had put himself in a vulnerable position with no means of protecting himself.  Essentially, a bunch of strangers wanted him to strip naked, and gave no indication of what would happen after.  His hesitance didn’t go unnoticed.

 

“Can’t hear, Winchester?  Pants. Off,” he was told in no uncertain terms.  He didn’t know who was speaking, but Sam had good instincts thanks to his father and brother, and his instincts suddenly told him this wasn’t good.  He still had his hands on his jeans, unmoving.  “Take the pants off, or I’ll do it for you.”  The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end; something wasn’t right with this.

 

“I-I don’t think --” He didn’t finish his sentence, cut off by a hard and unforgiving blow to his face.  His teeth cut into his cheek and lower lip, throbbing instantly in the wake of the punch.  He could feel blood start to run down his chin.

 

“I didn’t tell you to talk,” Someone said viciously while one of the brothers held his arms uncomfortably behind his back. The brother in charge roughly rid him of his belt and then his jeans and boxers all in one swift pull.  “Do what you’re told, don’t talk, and you’ll be just fine, Winchester.”

 

He listened to the taunting that started; comments about whose dicks were too small and who probably took it up the ass.  This was not what Sam had expected. He wouldn’t agree to this kind of humiliation of anyone, not even himself, regardless of what it could get him.  “Looks like Winchester is packing,” someone chuckled and a hand grabbed him roughly.  He’d been hit in the balls before accidentally, and it hurt, but having someone grabbing at you with no gentleness or finesse didn’t really feel that good either.  He jerked away, trying to pull his arms free.  “What are you doing?!” Sam shouted, voice muffled by the hood and distorted from the swelling that had started in his lips and cheek.

 

He didn’t get an answer, just another blow to the side of the head and a knee in his stomach as the person holding his arms guided him down to his knees.  He gasped into the stale air of the hood, spitting blood and trying to get his breath, his balance.  He had not signed up for this – he wanted out.  He didn’t need their fraternity.

 

“You afraid of homos, Winchester?  We accept all kinds of brothers, even the ones that like dick.”  Sam whimpered when the owner of the voice grabbed him by his sore jaw and forced his head up.  “Do you need to learn how to like dick, Winchester?  How to accept all your brothers?”

 

“No,” Sam said.  The hit this time was meant to incapacitate him, as well as the one following.  His face ached, and his head was swimming from getting hit so hard in the temple twice.

 

“Get him down,” the voice said, and he was pushed roughly by more than one set of hands.  His cheek and chest were pressed to the grass, hood still firmly in place, and another set of hands grabbed him by the hips, hauling him up onto his knees.  He knew better than to speak, but it didn’t stop him from trying to fight back, kicking at the person near his legs.  “Hold him the fuck still!”

 

The grip on his arms was suddenly stronger, pulling and twisting up.  He knew it was coming – the angle his arm was being manipulated at wasn’t natural, and he felt the searing pain before he heard the audible pop.  He fought not to throw up as his right shoulder tore from its socket, pain firing from his shoulder down his arm and across his back.  He screamed into the hood, unable to stop it.

 

“Stay still or I’ll break your legs – got it?”  Sam nodded, blinking back tears.

 

He heard someone spit and felt it hit his lower back. His heart was thundering in his ears, knowing with certain, sinking dread where this was going.  He thought about begging, but every time he talked before, he’d gotten hit, and in this position he didn’t know what they could do to really hurt him.  “Gotta learn to accept ALL your brothers, Winchester,” he said, voice pitched low.   Sam had no control over his struggling when he heard another belt buckle jingling and the sound of a zipper sliding down, louder than any he had heard before.  Someone spat again and Sam struggled harder, until a heavy foot landed on the back of his neck.  “Don’t make me hurt you more than I have to,” was growled down at him.

 

“When you become a part of this brotherhood, you learn your place; when to help out your brothers in need.”  Sam squeezed his eyes shut tightly when a heavy handed slap landed on his ass; he was ashamed of himself for thinking that maybe that would be the worst of it – getting his ass spanked and being humiliated in front of these strangers. That would be enough, wouldn’t it?  “When your brother needs something from you, you give it, and when he needs to give something to you,” he said and chuckled a little.  “Then you take it.”

 

Sam couldn’t help the scream that built up in his throat; he felt something decidedly _not_ a hand brush across his ass.  Something _wet_.  “Don’t!  I’m sorry!” Sam cried out.  “I’ll do whatever you want, just please-!”

 

“Shut up,” was hissed at him, and several kicks landed to his ribs.  He couldn’t get his breath, felt like he was suffocating from a lack of oxygen and from terror.  “Pay attention pledges!  Winchester is learning how to accept his brothers, even the ones who like dick.” There were a few chuckles, and finally, someone who said “I don’t think this --” and was cut off by another vicious “Shut up!”

 

It felt like fire tearing up his back, and struggling made it worse, made the pain in his shoulder and ribs burn fiercely, but he couldn’t just let this guy fuck him.  Sam didn’t care if members of the fraternity were gay, but they didn’t need to do this – this was nothing more than a humiliation ritual, a power trip for the guy behind him, shoving into Sam’s body – which was unwilling and resistant.  Sam screamed.  He hadn’t done anything to deserve this!

 

 

“You’ll accept your dick-loving brothers now, won’t you?  Won’t have much to say after having my dick in you.” The guy talking, whoever it was clearly enjoyed this and Sam got the sinking, sickening feeling that he was not the first pledge to suffer this.  He didn’t care about Dad’s rule about not killing humans; when he found out who did this, Sam was going to kill him so he couldn’t do this ever again – not to him or anyone else.

 

He lost track of time, blacked out, got lost in his own head somewhere so that he didn’t have to acknowledge what was happening and he didn’t really know how long the whole ordeal lasted .  When the piece of garbage behind him finally pulled out of his body, Sam sucked in a painful breath and fought the urge to throw-up when he heard the slick sounds of flesh on flesh, followed by groaning and wet warmth on his back.  Immediately, he thought of getting clean and taking a hot shower with about eight pounds of soap to get the feeling of this scumbag off his skin, and then maybe he could get to forgetting this ever happened.

 

The feeling of dread deepened when he said “Who’s teaching the next lesson?” and slapped Sam again, harder.

 

“Please,” Sam begged hoarsely, throat sore from yelling in hopes that by some miracle, someone would hear him and come to his rescue.  “Please, stop – “

 

“I think that’s enough,” someone finally said, and Sam wanted to cry with relief.  “We’re done here.”

 

 “You don’t make the rules here – “

 

“I don’t care.  I said enough.  I’m taking him back to his room.”

 

“And what if he goes and tells –“

 

“I won’t!” Sam interrupted.  “I swear to god, I won’t -- just let me go.”

 

“He won’t say anything.  Take him off the pledge list; leave him alone.”

 

Someone helped him to his feet, caught him when he stumbled, hands much gentler than the ones before them.  “It’s ok,” he said quietly.  “I’m getting you out of here.”

 

He was aware that they walked for a few minutes, and that it was painful.  From his shoulders to his thighs was a solid wall of burning pain.  “You’re behind your dorm hall,” the voice said quietly.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner; I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

 

Sam flinched when hands touched his shoulders and the hood was mercifully removed from his head.  The cool air felt good on his face, but it still hurt to breathe, his ribs sorer than they had ever been in his life.  It took a few moments for Sam’s eyes to focus, but the guy standing in front of him didn’t move as he held out Sam’s clothes to him.  It hit Sam suddenly that he was still naked, beat up, still had some guy’s fucking jizz running down and cooling on his back.  He didn’t know what he wanted to do more: rage or throw-up.  “Thanks,” Sam whispered.

 

“This won’t go unpunished,” he promised.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there earlier, Sam.”

 

Sam stared at him, realizing that he recognized him.  He had met the guy in the library a few days ago and they had talked for a while about pledging and scholarships, but he couldn’t remember his name. He was also the guy that recruited Sam and told him that their fraternity could use a few brainiacs. His blondish hair, dark at the roots, and blue eyes – he could picture them sitting in the library talking as Sam stood there holding his clothes while other guy turned to walk away.

 

“Brady,” Sam finally said.  “You… you’re Brady, right?”  He nodded. “I…” Sam fought hard to swallow down the urge to cry.  “Thanks.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me. If I had been there earlier this wouldn’t have happened.  I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

  
\---&\---

 

Taking a red-eye flight wasn’t Bobby’s favorite thing, but it sounded like Sam really needed someone there, and if Bobby was the person he was choosing to turn to, then – well, Bobby was going to be there.  Truth be told, he missed those boys like nothing else, having spent so many summer’s looking after them, but their daddy was one stubborn son of a bitch, and he didn’t regret threatening to shoot him.

 

He stood outside of Sam’s dorm hall for a few minutes, wondering what the hell trouble Sam could have gotten himself into.  Kid was quiet and damn smart, he wouldn’t go looking for trouble, and he sure as hell hoped that their brand of trouble hadn’t gone looking for Sam.  He dials Sam’s number to let him know that he’s there and find to out what floor and room Sam is in.

 

He knocks on Sam’s door and it takes a minute before Sam cracks open the door. He looks at Bobby for a few moments before letting him in, mostly standing behind the door and then keeping his back to Bobby while he closed the door.  He stood there, one hand on the door knob and the other arm held in close to his stomach.

 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on, Sam?” Bobby asks.  He watches Sam’s back for a moment, noticing the fine tremors, the sweat dampening the back of Sam’s shirt.  “Sam?”

 

He’s more than a little shocked to see the state Sam is in when he turns around.  The right side of his face is one big, ugly bruise; his right eye is swollen, there is a lump on his jaw and his bottom lip is split.  Sam keeps his right arm tucked into his body.

 

“Jesus, Sam.  What the hell happened to ya?” He starts to move toward him, to help or to comfort him, he’s not sure, but Sam takes a step back with wide eyes, pressing his back against the door.  He looks like a cornered animal.  Bobby realizes his hand is outstretched, as if to beckon Sam to come to him, or as he thought Sam saw it, to grab him.  Bobby puts up both hands as if in surrender.  “Sam, it’s me.  I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

 

A few minutes ago, Sam was only shaking a little, and now his whole body is trembling.  He nods at Bobby, and then again like he’s telling himself not to fear the older man.  “I know,” Sam replies, still plastered to the door.  “I know, I’m – I’m sorry.”  He seemed to shake himself out of whatever it is, and moves cautiously toward Bobby.

 

“You look like hell, Sam.  Mind telling me what happened to you?” He asks and Sam motions for him to sit in the chair at the desk against the wall.  Sam stands on the opposite side of the room.  Sam looks green beneath all the bruises and pale skin, and the kid looks like he’s about to hurl all over his floor.  “Sam?”

 

“Accident,” he answers.  “I just… had an accident.”

 

Obviously something more than an accident had happened, but Sam looks spooked enough, so he isn’t going to make it worse.  “Okay, you had an accident.  You said you needed my help?”

 

“I got hurt,” Sam says, as if it wasn’t obvious.  “I need your help fixing me up.  I can’t do it myself.”

 

“Call me crazy, but isn’t that what a hospital is for?  Even the campus health office?”

 

Sam shook his head vigorously.  “No.  I can’t.  He --”   He cut himself off and looks at Bobby with a terrified expression.  “I mean …”

 

“It’s ok, Sam,” Bobby says calmly.  “I know this wasn’t no accident. You don’t have to tell me who it was – but you can, if you want.  I’ll take care of it.”

 

Sam nods, face softening a little.  Bobby still isn’t sure the kid isn’t going to burst into tears.  “My shoulder,” he says quietly.  “I -- it’s dislocated.  I tried, but I can’t get it back on my own.”

 

“You damn idjit,” Bobby scolds.  “You left your shoulder out of socket for over 24 hours?”

 

“I couldn’t – I couldn’t go to the hospital, Bobby,” he says looking at the floor.  “Please.”

 

“Come here,” Bobby says gruffly and Sam looks at him like he’s crazy.  “It’s me, Sam -- you know I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”  Sam nods and moves closer slowly.

 

He isn’t going to say it doesn’t concern him that Sam flinches every time he has to touch him, because it does – it worries him a lot.  Whatever the hell had happened had been enough to get to Sam. The kid had a tough skin, so if you got through it, you really had to hurt him.  “Not that I mind,” Bobby says, “but how come you didn’t call, Dean?”

 

“Because I… He can’t know about this,” Sam says quietly.

 

“On three,” Bobby says, putting his hands on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam nods.  “One,” and he just snaps it back into place.  Sam cries out and nearly falls to his knees; Bobby thinks if he hadn’t had his hands on him, he would have fallen.  He stands close to Sam while he gasps for breath, furiously wiping his face to keep Bobby from seeing that he’s crying.  Bobby thinks this may end up being more than he can handle; Sam isn’t someone who breaks down easy, and it looks to Bobby like he’s falling apart at the seams.  He scrubs a hand over his face while Sam stands at the desk, bent over at the waist, shaking.  “Sam…”

  
  
  
“My ribs,” Sam says, gasping, and Bobby is next to him in a second.  He’s having trouble taking a deep breath.  “I think my ribs are broken,” he gasps.

 

“Okay, kid. I’m sorry,” he says.  “But you’re going to the hospital.  You can give ’em whatever story you want, but you’re going.”

 

In the emergency room they look at Bobby like he’s the one who beat the hell out of Sam. They make him wait outside the room with a million excuses as to why he can’t see Sam.   
  


He stops listening to their orders when he hears Sam yelling, “ _don’t touch me!”_  
  


Bobby barges in, regardless of who says he can’t be in there.  Before he can stop himself he’s saying, “If you’re not going to help my boy, then we’ll find someone else who can.”  Sam is on his knees with a pink basin in his hands, doubled over and retching.

 

“Sir-“

 

“Look, I don’t have time for your crap. Do what he’s asking you to or leave him the hell alone.  Don’t you get that he’s _scared_?” Bobby yells.  He pushes past the gawping doctor and gets down next to Sam.  “It’s ok, Sam.  Let’s get you off the floor, yeah?”

 

He pulls Sam to his feet, still shaking, and wearing the flimsy hospital gown that was given to him.  Bobby walks him over to the bed and pulls back the blankets; he helps Sam onto the bed and covers him up.  “Just sit tight for a minute, ok?  I’m gonna try and get you outta here faster.”

 

They spend nearly four hours at the hospital, and while Sam is getting dressed they hand Bobby his prescriptions.  He’s not surprised to see the prescription for the painkillers, but the second prescription he’s not sure about.  He signs his name on the papers the nurse in front of him asks him to and then looks at her.  “Is this an antibiotic?” He asks, holding the prescription slip.

 

She looks at it and nods.  “We give prophylactics to all sexual assault victims; it’s just a preventative measure to avoid sexually transmitted diseases and other infections.”  He tries not to look surprised; she must have assumed Bobby knew everything that happened to Sam and he wasn’t going to correct her.  It’s not something he wants to know, per se; he’d rather it just not have happened.  He can’t figure out how the hell any of this has happened.

 

Sam comes out of the room looking worse for wear, his right arm in a sling.  “Hey kid, you ready to get out of here?” Bobby asks.  Sam nods and they head out together, Sam carefully avoiding standing too close.

 

Instead of turning the car towards Sam’s dorm, he heads for the hotel he’s staying at.  Sam sits up straighter, watching their turn off disappear in alarm.  “What are you doing?”

 

“I think it’s best if you stay with me for a couple days,” Bobby says calmly.  “I think you need someone to look after you until you’re feeling better.”

 

Sam closes his eyes, and Bobby watches him try to control his breathing. “I have classes.”

 

“And?  You’ve got a doctor’s excuse, Sam.  You need a couple days,” Bobby says and Sam sits back against the seat. If Bobby sees or thinks that he’s crying, he doesn’t say a word.

 

The hotel room is bigger than what Sam’s grown up in; there is a table and two chairs in the far corner, two queens, and a decent sized bathroom.  The first thing Sam does is announce he’s taking a shower and Bobby just watches him run to the bathroom and listens to the lock click into place.

 

By the time Sam comes out of the bathroom, Bobby has nearly dozed off.  Sam looks at him guiltily, like he’s in trouble for being in the bathroom too long, but as far as Bobby knows there are no laws against taking a hot shower for longer than 20 minutes.  “You ok?” Bobby asks and Sam nods, putting his sling in place.  Bobby sighs.  “Look, Sam, I know you don’t want to talk about this.”

 

“Bobby, don’t.  I’m fine.”

 

“The way I see it, that’s bullshit.  You’re not even close to fine,” Bobby says.  “I had to sign your paperwork remember?  I know what happened, Sam,” Bobby says softly.  He watches a war of emotions cross Sam’s face – fear, anger, despair, shame.  Before he has a chance to yell at him Bobby says, “You don’t ever have to tell me about it, ok?  Just… tell me who did it.”

 

He feels like Sam’s brother should be here since Dean would be the only one feeling more murderous than he does.  Sam sits down shakily on the other bed.  “How do you know about…about what happened?”

 

He gestures to the two bottles of pills on the bureau.  “Painkillers I get; didn’t know what the other one was, nurse told me why you might need an antibiotic.”  Sam looks down at his lap, clearly feeling shamed and embarrassed.  “I get the feeling this wasn’t a fair fight, Sam.”

 

“I was… pledging --” Sam says quietly.  “Trying to join a fraternity so I could get more scholarships, so I could … fit in somewhere.”

 

Bobby nods slightly.  “Wanna tell me what fraternity?”  Sam looks up at him knowingly. The boy is by no means stupid or naïve and it’s more than evident that he knows exactly why Bobby wants to know.  Sam nods at him, grabs the hotel pad off the little table between the beds, and writes the name down.  He hands it silently to Bobby.  “Stay here,” Bobby tells him, thinking that if he does something stupid like getting caught then Sam will at least have an alibi.

 

When he gets back, Sam is sleeping on his bed, curled up on his right side and as the door clicks closed, he jumps up, startled, until his eyes finally settle on Bobby.  They make eye contact but don’t say anything for a pair of minutes, and if Sam notices the blood under his fingernails, he doesn't say so.  “Bobby,” Sam finally says, swallowing audibly, “I just … thank you.”

 

“That’s what family does,” Bobby says.


End file.
